She watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye. She knew exactly what that core was worth.
The Celestial Sword Sect's entrance exam was secretly a points-based system. The number and quality of Beast Cores collected by a disciple determined their starting rank: Outer Disciple, Inner Disciple, or the coveted Direct Disciple.
If she told Wangchen this, the idiot would undoubtedly force every single core he found into her hands, insisting that she take the credit to become a Direct Disciple while he resigned himself to sweeping floors in the Outer Sect.
'That's not happening, Little Puddle,' she thought. 'You're going to be the top scorer, even if I have to trick you into it.'
"Put it away," she ordered. "And come here. It's bedtime."
Wangchen stored the core in his spatial bag obediently. He stood up, dusted off his robes, and looked at the single bedroll spread out on the flattest patch of moss.
"I will take the first watch," he said, moving toward the base of a nearby tree. "After that, I will sleep on the ground. The earth element here is strong; it will not harm me."
"Objection," Ji'an said, crossing her arms. "The ground is cold and dirty. And bugs are everywhere."
"I am a servant," Wangchen argued, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. "I cannot share a bed with the Young Master. It is improper."
"We are in the wilderness," Ji'an scoffed. "Propriety was eaten by that boar two hours ago. Besides, I get cold easily. Are you going to let your fragile, delicate Young Master freeze to death just because you're shy?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She marched over, grabbed him by the wrist, and hauled him toward the bedding.
"Get. In."
Wangchen stiffened as if he were being marched to the gallows. "Young Master, this is really..."
"If you argue again, I'll deduct your wages."
Defeated by capitalism and stubbornness, Wangchen removed his outer boots and stiffly lay down on the far right edge of the bedroll, balancing precariously as if trying to levitate above the fabric to avoid touching her.
He lay on his back, hands clasped over his stomach like a corpse in a coffin, eyes staring straight up at the canopy.
Ji'an grinned. She crawled in beside him, extinguishing the lantern with a flick of wind-infused Qi.
"See? Not so bad."
She shuffled closer. And then, because she was exhausted and he was radiating heat like a furnace, she threw her arm over his chest and hooked her leg over his legs.
Wangchen stopped breathing.
His entire body turned into stone. His heart began to hammer against his ribs with such violence that he was sure Ji'an could feel it through their clothes.
'He is touching me,' Wangchen's mind screamed, caught in a chaotic spiral of panic and ecstasy. 'The Young Master is hugging me. He smells like spices and soap. If I move, I will die. If I don't move, I will die.'
"Relax," Ji'an mumbled into his shoulder, nuzzling against the fabric of his robe. "You're stiff as a board. Be a pillow. A soft pillow."
She didn't treat him like a man. She treated him like a giant teddy bear.
For Ji'an, this was purely practical. She missed her body pillow from her previous life. Wangchen was warm, solid, and safe.
The Yin-Yang Void Locket hummed in her chest, ensuring that even this close, her feminine aura was completely masked. To her, this was just bros being bros.
For Wangchen, this was the most excruciating, wonderful torture of his life. He could feel the soft rise and fall of her breath against his neck.
He could feel the weight of her arm. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let go, but he was terrified that if he moved a millimeter, the illusion would break and she would realize a servant had no right to hold his master.
So he lay there, eyes wide open in the dark, his face burning, praying to any god who would listen to calm his racing heart.
'Just sleep,' he told himself. 'Just... endure the happiness.'
.
.
.
He had almost succeeded. The rhythm of Ji'an's breathing had started to lull him into a trance, and his muscles were finally beginning to uncoil.
"AAAAHHHHHHHH! HELP ME!"
The scream ripped through the night like a serrated knife.
Ji'an groaned loudly, her vibration traveling through Wangchen's chest. She tightened her grip on him for a second, then went limp with annoyance.
"You have got to be kidding me," she grumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
"SOMEONE! ANYONE!"
The voice was closer now. It was a male voice, a melodic, desperate, and pitiful one at that.
Ji'an lifted her head from Wangchen's shoulder, her hair messy and her eyes narrowed in the dark.
"I tried," she hissed to the darkness. "I tried to be a benevolent NPC who ignores the plot. But no. They have to scream right next to my ear."
Wangchen sat up instantly, the "huggy pillow" mode vanishing as he transitioned back into bodyguard mode. His hand flew to Winter's Sigh.
"It sounds like a candidate in distress," he whispered. "To the East. Less than two hundred paces."
"I don't care if it's the Emperor," Ji'an kicked the blanket off, shivering as the cold air hit her. "If they woke me up, they'd better have a good reason. Or I'm feeding them to the next boar."
She grabbed her boots. "Let's go. If we don't shut them up, I'll never get back to sleep."
Wangchen looked at her grumpy, disheveled face and felt a surge of affection so strong it almost knocked him over. He quickly masked it, standing up and offering her a hand.
"I will clear the way."
They moved through the forest silently, Wangchen leading the way, his sword glowing faintly to illuminate the path.
The screaming had turned into the sounds of chaotic fighting, explosions of Qi, the crashing of trees, and heavy, panicked panting.